I Have Always Known
by SmallCat1776
Summary: Peggy Shippen never wanted to say goodbye to Major John Andre, but was asked to so that the man she loved might complete his duty. Major Andre never wanted to leave Miss Shippen, but was asked to do so in order to complete his duty to King and Country. And Sir Henry Clinton never wanted to see his head of intelligence caught in such a predicament.


**I Have Always Known**

 **A** _ **Turn: Washington's Spies**_ **fanfiction**

Philadelphia

June 1778

 **Part I: Peggy Shippen**

Tears welled in the corners of my eyes as I watched him walk away.

I squinted through my sobs as I watched him, watched the scarlet coated figure wander further and further from my sight until he was merely a red speck, a faint outline in the midst of the crowded streets of Philadelphia. I wiped the tears from my eyes, reflecting on the question which had been plaguing me ever since he made that request to remain behind, that request which had taken every amorous affection he had ever shown me and shoved them aside in a single instant.

Why was it me who would have to make the sacrifice? Why did it have to be me who would have to let Major John Andre walk away? And, more importantly, why in the world had I agreed to do it?

In a way, I mused beneath my welling tears, I understood why John had decided to ask this of me. True, what he had requested of me last night still felt like the harshest and most unreasonable thing in the world, yet one look into his eyes had told me that it was also a necessity. A duty, John had called it. Duty. A word which to him was so full of importance, so full of meaning, and yet for me it was the most meaningless thing he could ever say. For I knew what it entailed, and even as he spoke the words, I also understood that this was indeed what he wanted.

This is what he wanted.

I muttered the words again under my breath. This is what all of them - Clinton and Cornwallis and the rest of the Army wanted. This was what any true Tory loyal to her King should have wanted: an end to the fighting and the suffering and the bleeding and the dying. A chance to end this bloody war. A chance at peace. There had been a time, before meeting my dear friend Major Andre, when I would have been enthralled by the prospect of peace and a cessation of hostilities. But that was a different time. Now, it no longer mattered if John was asking me to end the war, to seek peace by turning one of the greatest American officers of his time against his country.

It didn't matter if I was serving the King or acting in the service of my country or doing what Clinton and the other Regular officers would have hailed as 'duty.'

Right now, the only thing that mattered to me was John Andre.

How could he do this to me? I felt my heart race at the thought. How could he simply ask me to remain in Philadelphia, to openly give myself to an enemy officer and pretend to love him, pretend to give the very essence of myself to him, knowing full well that the man I loved more than the entire world had asked me to do this for him? How could he say that turning a proud, arrogant man like Benedict Arnold would end the war, when it would lead to this? This was so unfair! How would seducing Arnold lead me back to John any sooner? My head spun, searching for some sort of meaning to this nonsense.

No, I told myself finally. I couldn't do this. Major Andre, John, was my friend, my confidant, my most constant and steadfast companion. More than that, he was the man I loved, the man I would always love, even in the face of war and turmoil and political distress. I could not give him up for Arnold. I could not fight Major Andre's war, for it was not Major Andre whom I loved. I loved John Andre. John, my friend, would see my pleas for what they truly were. He would dismiss his professional duty in a heartbeat, were I to tell him of my intentions. He would listen without judgment, speak to me without reservations or hesitation, and tell me the truth, that he truly loved me.

I raced after him.

 **Part II: Andre**

"Morning, Major."

The sentry saluted as I rounded the corner and approached Sir Henry's headquarters. I returned the gesture, one hand upon the hilt of my sword, and began to ascend the stairs which lead to the foyer of the home. My heart stopped in my chest, however, upon seeing Miss Shippen staggering in my direction. She was in a sorry state: haggard, short of breath, her eyes brimming with tears and her cheeks puffy from her sobbing. I extended my arms and she raced into my embrace, kissing me passionately. I hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the suddenness of her embrace, and paused with my mouth agape, unsure of what to say.

"John!" The voice which spoke my name sounded very different from the voice which had spoken it the night before.

"Miss Shippen? What is it?"

Peggy did not answer. Her eyes met mine for only a moment before she pressed her face into the woolen fabric of my uniform, the tears running freely down the scarlet coat as she wept. I motioned with one hand for the sentry to open the door to Clinton's headquarters and the man hesitated, hands trembling against the butt of his firelock.

"Sorry, Sir, but I have orders from Sir Henry himself. You're permitted free entry, as an officer, but I'm afraid that I cannot allow the young lady to enter headquarters without a pass."

I scowled at the man. "I am your superior officer, and this 'young lady' is clearly in distress. You would do well to stand aside, Private, before my sense of civility gives way."

The sentry stiffened. "General Clinton's orders are absolute, Sir. No entry without a proper pass."

"For God's sake, Archibald, open the door!" The commanding voice of Sir Henry Clinton echoed from upstairs. I could have recognized the eloquence of his tone from anywhere. So could Archibald, apparently, for he snapped crisply to attention and stood aside, allowing me to open the door and escort Peggy inside. As we entered, Clinton loomed at the top of the stairs, his imposing figure sympathetic as his eyes met mine. His face, however, was stern and commanding.

"My God, John! What the devil happened to her?"

"I'm not sure, Sir. She just staggered into my arms and..."

"Well don't just stand there, man! Help her!"

We led her inside. As we did, my thoughts began to race through my head, all of them jumbled together, the majority of them hardly comprehensible. It was as though two opposing voices waged a war within my mind, two generals shouted their orders through the void of my thoughts, trying desperately to make themselves heard. On one side of the debate stood John Andre, Major in His Majesty's Army: the duty-bound officer, the soldier, Sir Henry Clinton's head of intelligence. His voice was firm, disciplined and uncompromising, filled with the sobering prospect of placing his duty above all else. Against him, however, stood the guarded bulwark of my heart, the heart which yearned for nothing more than Peggy's happiness, the part of me which knew Miss Shippen required my services just as much as Clinton did. This side of me spoke with a different tone, a tone full of desperation, almost pleading, as he begged to spare his friend and lover from the inevitable pain of separation.

For a time, my mind seemed almost placid as the two sides of myself swept over the battlefield, each surveying his opponent for some trace of weakness, for some chink in his adversary's armor which could be exploited. It was Major Andre who fired the first volley, however, the red-uniformed man drawing his sword as he gazed down upon his love-struck opponent. The look in his eyes was a soldier's look, the look of a man who had gone through the hellish fires of war and knew the costs all too well, a man who knew that to grant his enemy quarter would be a sign of weakness, a break in the strict dogmatic discipline which defined a man of the martial order.

" _Damn it, John! You know your duty! Think of your family back in England, your mother, your sisters. Think of General Clinton! Would he wish to see you undone by a woman's charm?"_

" _I cannot do that which you ask of me,"_ the lover retorted,standing his ground _. "Peggy Shippen is more than just 'a woman' to me, can't you understand that? She is my friend, the woman I love, and she doesn't deserve to suffer through any of this."_

" _But you have your duty, John._ _Do not forget the oath you swore upon purchasing your commission_."

The other side of myself did not hesitate before the onslaught of words which assaulted his position. He did not withdraw before the Major's bluntness, rather he defended his ground, his confident smile contrasting with the Major's stern composure.

" _Don't you forget, Major Andre, I too took an oath last night. Like yours, my oath was also an oath of loyalty. But where yours was an oath to serve your country, mine was an oath to love and protect the woman I cherish and adore above all others. I could no sooner abandon my duty to her than you could abandon my duty to the General. So go ahead, my good sir. Fight your war. You may use the charm and wit of Miss Shippen to turn Arnold, but know that Peggy,_ **my** _Peggy, belongs to me, and to me alone._ "

With that final rebuttal, the two parts of myself seemed to amalgamate once more, and I stood complete and whole before my lover and my General, my feelings at least partially composed once again. I turned to Peggy, trying not to lose myself in my own thoughts, and beckoned to her. For a moment, she did not look at me, her eyes instead turned towards the imposing figure of General Clinton, as if she could somehow use her tears to sway the commander-in chief's mind by sheer willpower alone. But he remained unmoved, his stoic figure proud and unmoved by her desperate tears and pleading words. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to reassure her more than anything in the world, but the words I required refused to come to me. Finally, sensing the tension in the room, the General extended a hand towards her. She clasped it tightly, holding Clinton's hand as though it were mine, the look of desperation in her light azure eyes seeming as frail and delicate as stained glass as they flickered from Clinton to me and back again.

"Miss Shippen," Sir Henry whispered to her quietly, knowing that something must be said in order to diffuse the tension in the room, "I know you probably do not wish to speak to Major Andre about whatever is on your mind, ma'am. But you have to tell _someone_. Please?"

Peggy let out a long, drawn out sigh, almost choking for a moment on her tears. Her feet waivered beneath her for just a moment and Clinton reached out to her, steadying her balance and easing her around the corner into a nearby armchair. I followed cautiously, after gesturing to Private Archibald to return to his sentry post. This was not a matter which concerned him.

After a few more moments of agonized eternity, Peggy broke the silence.

"I do need to tell you something. Both of you, but especially you, John. I've been so… so afraid to say anything!" She let out a low, almost guttural moan, flooding her cheeks with tears. Sir Henry responded by handing her his handkerchief, and she wiped pitifully at the torrent of tears, slowing the flow but not stopping it entirely. Her entire body rocked to and fro against the back of the chair, her movements erratic and unsteady. If I listened hard enough, I was almost certain I could hear the thumping of her heart resounding over the low wails of her sobs. Slowly, uneasily, I made my way over to her and embraced her slender form, letting her tears darken the scarlet of my uniform coat and seep under my epaulet once again.

"You don't need to be afraid, Miss Shippen," Sir Henry told her reassuringly. "We're here. The Major— _John_ , and I, we're both here. It is alright."

Peggy inhaled deeply, doing her best to regain her composure. When she felt as though she was at least partially in command of her own emotions again, she exhaled rapidly, collapsing against my side.

"I… I know of your plans to turn General Arnold."

The General and I exchanged glances. "What?"

"John, you have hinted to me over the past months, the most recent occurrence being last night, when we were last together, that you wished for me to remain behind in Philadelphia while you and the rest of the Regulars retreated to York City. You said that it was imperative to the war effort, that by turning General Arnold we might somehow bring a swift end to this terrible war. I agreed to these conditions because it was what you wanted to hear from me, because agreeing with you made you happy. But now that I know the truth of what you ask of me, I realize that I… I can't _live_ without you here, John! I feel so… alone, so _empty_ without you! It's as though—"

She broke off, and Sir Henry motioned with his hand for me to speak to her.

"It's as though what, my love?"

"It's as though a part of me will be… broken without you!" The last words were barely audible, partially drowned out by her tears.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Miss Shippen," Sir Henry interrupted, "but are you saying that the letter you passed to Major Andre regarding your… uncertainties about this mission was in fact _genuine?"_

Somehow, in spite of all the tears, Peggy managed a weak nod.

"I know both of you have asked me to... assist you in your bargaining with General Arnold. But I can't do it. John, I... I can't! I can't do that! Even for you! I've never told you this openly, but I cannot bear the thought of living without you, even for a moment! I can't face that... the thought undoes me every time it crosses my mind!"

"So you're saying you don't want to be a part of this, Miss Shippen? Are you saying you refuse our request?"

She nodded weakly. I tried to find words, yet again my tongue failed me, and General Clinton voiced the words I was once more unable to say.

"Miss Shippen, you must understand. The war effort requires sacrifices from all of us. Trust me, I'm sure this will be the right decision. Isn't that right, John?"

"Yes, Sir," I responded, feeling an instant pang of regret as the falsehood left my lips. In vain, I extended my arms to her, offering a warm embrace.

Shuddering, Peggy reached out for me, but at the last second pulled herself away. "No!" Her voice was piercing, almost a scream, like that of a defenseless deer surrounded at every turn by a pack of wolves. "I've tried, John! I've tried to imagine life without you here, tried desperately to convince myself that this i _s_ what is best for me, for you, for us! But… I can't! I can't stand the thought of being beside Arnold, of… being with him… while you're miles and miles away! I want to stay here, John! With _you_!"

"Sadly, Miss Shippen," Sir Henry remarked quietly, more to himself than to Peggy and I, "sacrifices are required in wartime. Do you think _I wanted_ to leave my children behind in England, the youngest of which had just recently lost his mother only three years before, in order to come to America and fight this war? I was still grieving Harriet when they offered me the American command. Damnit all, I'm _still_ grieving her!" He lowered his head, evidently fighting back a tide of his own tears.

Slowly, uneasily, I placed a hand around my commander, relieved that Archibald and the other sentries were not there to see the Commander in Chief caught in his moment of weakness.

"Not to mention, my dear, but we both discussed that turning Arnold _will_ turn the tide of this war back in our favor. It is imperative to the strategic situation of this war that he be removed from the rebel side of the equation. You said yourself that you'd do anything to end this war so we could be together, didn't you?"

She nodded somberly. "Y-yes, I suppose I did."

By this time, Sir Henry had regained enough of his composure to reply. "Then you know your duty, Miss Shippen. Things will be alright. Both John and I promise you that."

"No! No! No, things won't be alright! How can they be! How can it possibly be _right_ when it means I end up miserable for the rest of the war, possibly for the rest of my life?!"

"And what's the alternative, Peggy? Admit to General Clinton that I've been wasting his time for more than a year? Admit that I was wrong about Arnold? Don't you see that we have an opportunity to end this rebellion, to put a stop to all this bloodshed and misery and suffering? If we end this war, Arnold will be nothing to His Majesty. If Parliament has their way, the man will still hang as a traitor, and things will return to the way they were. Abigail, your servant… she will be able to live in _freedom,_ if the Royal governors have their way. And we… we will be happy together, just as we have for all these months. Do not mourn the time we are apart, my love. It will be but a momentary pang, a single instant in our lives."

"But…"

"No buts, Miss Shippen. John has my full confidence, and he should have yours. I have learned, through experience, that those dearest to us always have a way of being there when we need them most. Harriet might not be here for me the way she was before… before her passing, but she is here nonetheless. Whenever I see my children's eyes, or the flag of the Union flying over my head, or the proud Tory citizens waving at me from the streets, I see her, as though she has been there all along. And so I must ask you, ma'am. What will remind you of Major Andre when he is far from you? What will symbolize him even in those moments when he cannot be present?"

She honed her gaze to the place where my braid had once rested, then opened her left hand, the hand which I had failed to notice had been clenched tightly the entire time. In it, queued as neatly as it had been the night before, was that same braid which I had given to her for that very purpose.

"I have this," she told Sir Henry reluctantly.

"Very well. And what of you, Major?"

"I have my drawings, sir. Sketches of Miss Shippen from when we were together."

Clinton nodded. "Figured you would say that, old chap. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a campaign to plan. Seems as though old Johnny Burgoyne needs some reinforcements…"

I nodded. "If you require my assistance…" I began, but Sir Henry cut me off before I could finish.

"Later, John. You are to attend to Miss Shippen." A familiar look of confidence and determination swept across the old soldier's face. "That's a direct order."

And so it was that I found myself alone in the silence of the living room, holding the woman I loved more than the entire world tightly in my arms. She sobbed, more quietly than she had before, yet the anguished look in her eyes seemed to unmake me. Even as my tongue struggled desperately to find the words of comfort which would assuage her wounded heart and ease the pain of our inevitable parting, I forced my eyes to look at her, to embed her very image into my memory, so that I might not forget her in the months to come.

At last, she looked up. For a moment, it seemed as though she had something to tell me, for she opened her mouth as if to speak. Yet she said nothing. Tenderly, I reached out with a gentle finger to wipe a single tear from the corner of her eye. She smiled softly, and produced a small, tear-streaked sheet of parchment, which she had hastily folded and sealed, apparently before her arrival here. Somewhat hesitantly, I reached for the letter, and in an instant her lips met mine. Pulling me to my feet, she entwined herself around me, clinging to me as though she would never let go and kissing me with the same passion of the night before. For a moment, we simply stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, clinging to each other as though the world would somehow crumble into dust if we let go. But alas, all good things must end, and after relishing my presence for that single, definite moment, Peggy broke away from the kiss and leaned into my ear.

"Do not read this until I have left you," she whispered, her warm breaths soft and gentle against my skin as she tucked the letter into the pocket of my uniform.

I gently ran my fingers down her spine, and she relished in the feeling, tightening her embrace.

"I fear, madam, that if you say that your words will go unread."

"And why is that, John?"

"Because as long as you are entwined within my heart, Peggy, you will never truly be able to leave. Because from the moment I met you, Miss Shippen, I have known… I have _always_ known…"

"Known what, John?"

"That I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will love you, no matter what Arnold or Clinton or Washington might do to drive us apart. This war cannot last forever. It has to end sometime, and when it does, I will do everything in my power to find you so that we might reunite again. Have faith, my dearest. Trust that Providence will reunite us again, even if it seems hopeless, even if the very thought of our separation seems impossible to bear in this moment. Trust that the Lord will set everything right. And if that seems too hard to do, trust in me, in _us._ Trust that we are duty-bound subjects of our King, who will be rewarded handsomely for our services when this ordeal is over."

Peggy smiled, though there was a part of me which was unsure if her smile was genuine.

"As long as we will be together again, John, that is the only reward I require."

And as we embraced one last time, there in the midday sun, I knew that the feeling was mutual.

 **Part III: Clinton**

 **York City-His Majesty's Army Headquarters**

 **July 1778**

 **Weeks after the evacuation of Philadelphia**

"Sir, Major Andre to see you."

I turned, saluting my head of intelligence and motioning for the sentry to close the door behind him. "Evening, John. How goes the campaign?"

Andre provided me no answer. He paced about, his hand firmly planted upon the hilt of his sword, his eyes downcast. The frown upon his face gave away his demeanor at once, and I approached him tentatively, placing one hand upon his shoulder.

"Major, I asked you a question. How are you?" I made my inquiry again, raising my voice slightly, but still Andre did not reply. His eyes darted across the room to a bottle of brandy I had been saving for this very occasion. He said nothing, yet I could read his intentions from across the room and ambled over to the bottle, procuring a pair of glasses and pouring the liquor into them. When I had finished, I extended my hand to the Major, who took the drink and sipped it with the same finesse I had come to expect of him. Which, given the stresses I had placed upon my head of intelligence over the past weeks, seemed rather surprising.

The two of us settled down at my desk, drinks in hand, and it took me a moment to set aside some of the various articles of soldiery which rested upon it: a pair of pistols resting in the corner, various books and ledgers and scraps of paper cast higgledy-piggledy across the length of it, and whole stacks of various dispatches and other correspondence surrounding the rest. I could hear Major Andre give an audible sigh as he surveyed the state of my headquarters, and I resisted an urge to reprimand him for his observations. Although, I admitted to myself, he did have at least have a point. Admittedly, I myself was not proud of my current arrangement, and it took me a few moments to rearrange the pile into a somewhat cohesive and organized position. The sentries observed all of this from the far side of the room, one on either side of the door, arms sloped to the present and feet locked together at attention, their gaze fixed fully upon the assembled officers; and an uneasy sort of stillness reigned throughout the entirety of my headquarters.

A knock upon the door interrupted the silence. The sentry opened it, only to be met by the heaving breaths of an Army courier, a lad so slender and lithe that he might have been mistaken for one of Cornwallis' prized hunting hounds, were it not for his red coat and the short dirk at his side. He came clattering into the room, exhausted, his coat and breeches soaked from the torrents of rain which lashed at the windows of my headquarters, his boyish face red from the cold and his tri-corned hat reduced to little more than a sodden lump of wool upon his head. Hastily, the boy saluted. I returned his gesture.

"Message for the Major, Sir. It's of urgent importance." He reached into his pouch and produced a letter which had barely been touched by the falling rain, handing it hastily over to the Major, who took it into his hand at once. He surveyed it for a moment, without even breaking the seal, and I watched him for a few moments, wondering exactly when my aide would decide to open it.

"What is it, Major?"

"It's nothing, Sir. I'll read it later," Andre replied hastily, stuffing the letter into his coat pocket.

"Our friend here seems to believe that there is something important contained within that letter. Perhaps you should open it now, John, in case it contains strategic intelligence?"

"On the contrary, Sir, this man is not one of my agents. I keep detailed records of the couriers used in my services, and Ensign—"He gestured to the waiting messenger.

"O'Rourke, Sir."

"—O'Rourke is not currently within the employ of Army Intelligence." He motioned towards the waiting brandy, and O'Rourke wandered over and began to pour himself a drink. As he did so, John continued asking questions.

"Tell me, Ensign, where are you billeted?"

O'Rourke gazed back at the Major with confused eyes, a puzzled expression forming on his face.

What the Major means, my lad, is to which regiment have you been assigned? Where is your encampment, your billet?"

"I come from Monmouth, Sir. 17th Foot. We were recently engaged by rebels... Took the field, but at a significant cost…"

The boy dragged on, enthralled by his tale of the battle at Monmouth and the action his unit engaged in. As the moments ticked by, however, my patience began to wear thin. "Lad," said I after a not-so-brief interval, "your superiors have already provided me with detailed accounts of the action at Monmouth. We do not require your account of the fighting at this time. Of greater concern to us now is the contents of the letter addressed to Major Andre. Do you have any idea, Ensign?"

"No, Sir, I do not. I was merely tasked with delivering it."

"Well do you know who gave it to you and asked you to send it? Was it General Grey? One of his adjutants? General Cornwallis himself? _Who?"_ I had lost all trace of an officer's demeanor at this time. The anticipation had gotten to me, and I had to take several deep breaths in order to regain my composure.

"The letter was given to me… by a young private who formerly stood sentry over Your Excellency's headquarters in Philadelphia. He had been cut off from the evacuation… said the Major had somehow left this behind after you and he departed for York City. Probably dropped it following his hasty departure, he said."

"Archibald?" I cocked my head in surprise.

"Yes, that was his name, Sir."

I turned to Major Andre. "Leaving your work behind I see, eh John?" My words were driven more by curiosity than by accusation, yet I could see my aide's expression falter as I glared at him from behind my desk.

"I take offense to that, Sir. As you know I meticulously filed everything away in perfect order prior to the Army's evacuation. Need I remind you, I believe that you personally complimented me for my care in this process, Sir."

I nodded, remembering. "Nevertheless, even the most careful of men can have things slip past the most vigilant of eyes. You should open it, Major. If it does contain military intelligence, we must ensure it has not been tampered with. We wouldn't want to find out that the Rebels got to it. Not that that's likely, eh?" I chuckled to myself lightheartedly, mentally scoffing to myself at the thought of Washington's spies somehow breaking the encryption codes of the watchful and gallant Major Andre.

Andre did not laugh at my jest. "I can assure you, General, there is no military intelligence contained within this letter."

My smile faded at these words. "How in God's name do you know? You haven't even opened the bloody thing!"

"I just _know,_ General. And I do not wished to be pressed further on the matter." His eyes gleamed as though they were formed of battle-steel, and his expression had settled into a grim neutrality. In a way, it seemed to remind me of the Major that General Howe had ordered to hold the garrison at Setauket, Long Island, but that was neither here nor there.

"For God's sake, John! Hand it over. That's a direct order from your commanding officer."

Reluctantly, John handed the letter to me. I motioned to Ensign O'Rourke, who drew his dirk and broke the seal with the tip of the blade. Something of an audible moan escaped the Major as he did so.

"Now, Major Andre, to business. No doubt this contains some form of intelligence that you did not wish for me or Sir Charles to uncover, something of vital strategic importance?"

Andre said nothing, shaking his head and looking even more concerned.

I surveyed the words, but either through the writer's script or the dimness of the light, I was somehow unable to ascertain enough individual words to make heads or tails of the elaborate paragraphs. Finally, after a few moments of confusion, I returned the letter to John.

"Would you… do me the favor of reading this, Major? I'm afraid this light is hard upon my eyes."

Andre said nothing. He neither declined my request nor did he accept it. He simply stared at the parchment, lost in the contents, his eyes seemingly transfixed upon the words, as if nothing in the world could pull him away from them. Finally, after he had finished reading, he folded the letter carefully, replaced it within the envelope, and began to weep, softly and quietly into his hands.

"Please leave us, Ensign. Sentries, see Mister O'Rourke to my quarters. Get him a hot meal and for the love of God get him a dry uniform! Poor lad has been standing in these wet rags for long enough."

"Yes, Sir."

As the sentries departed, I turned my attention back to the sobbing, heaving figure of my aide-de-camp.

I placed my hand gently upon his shoulder, but he brushed it away with an almost violent stroke of his hand, a stroke which, were he anything less than my aide and my friend, would have resulted in an inquiry for striking a superior officer. But this was no time for matters of martial law. Clearly, the Major was under some kind of duress, and it was my duty, both as his commander and his friend, to determine why.

"Major?" I tried my best to sound calm and sympathetic, but John would have none of it. He clutched the letter to his breast, his tears growing more audible and more pained with every second, and a part of me wanted nothing more than to somehow step away, to leave him to confront whatever this letter had done to him. He was a strong, capable officer. I had no doubts within my mind that he would be up to whatever adversity these unknown words had placed before him.

Yet even as I thought these things, I knew that it was the last thing I could do.

"John, Let me ask you, as a friend, to inform me of… whatever the author of this message has to say. I wish to offer my assistance, Major, in order to repay you for the great service you have provided this Army."

"Service?!" Andre almost screamed the word. "What _service_ , General? The service that took me away from Philadelphia? The service which has forced me to make sacrifices beyond your comprehension? Oh, it's easy for you to see my plans as a service to the Crown, as a tactical asset to be played upon the chess-board of this awful war! You believe that you and Sir Charles and Johnny Burgoyne and the rest of them are the ones who suffer the worst from this war, that the losses and defeats and miseries of your campaigning and your rebel-quelling are the absolute worst thing that can ever befall you. But let me tell you something, General, your losses cannot begin to compare to mine."

I looked back at him, genuinely confused, yet before I could make my inquiry he was upon me, his words as fearsome as any saber, as deadly as any firelock.

"You ask me what was contained in this letter. You order me to tell you, as though your rank and your commission makes you some God-appointed master over me. Well I'll oblige you, _General_ Clinton. I'll read this, and we'll see what sort of _intelligence_ you can garner from it."

He cleared his throat and began to read.

" _My Dearest John,_

 _This morning I found myself remembering our last moment in each other's company and wishing you could be next to me in the luscious, warming sun._

 _I curse the wealth of my house and my name if it means we cannot be truly together. The Shippen name has brought me comforts to be sure, but with them, the loss of my true desires. How many evenings I have spent entertaining Continental officers and their bawdy mistresses, I can no longer count. All for my father's business gain, all for the family reputation, all so our immense fortune does not lose a dime._

 _I could care less of these things, John. I know now that you are what I want, and I don't care if the way we must be together is not in perfect accordance with my father's expectations. It is he who has driven us to this secrecy in the first place, and I will not let it be a shame on my soul._

 _My heart rests in knowing you are an intelligent man who will get what he wants in this world. I count myself lucky to be, and to know that I am, the desire of your noble heart. If circumstances brought on by the war prove to be too chaotic to gain me from my father with his blessing, I have an idea I have written in a poem. Though not as beautiful as your drawings, know it expresses my thoughts, and I would leap at the chance to obey them._

Let us run away together,

Plan to come back never.

On to the castles of Europe,

Riding a horse rigged only with stirrup.

We can travel like royals gone poor,

And revel in love forevermore.

 _Saving some fantastical midnight rendezvous with a getaway vessel, I am left in the daily routine of my youth that has been my lot since long before knowing you. I now revile the pointless meetings with friends, discussing hair and who is dating whom and where the next dance will be. My mind is instead alive with plans on how we may be together at last._

 _The very thought of Continental soldiers flooding back into these cultured streets of Philadelphia fills my soul with unrest. What a trying time it was before you and your army rescued our elegant city. Those Continentals often denigrated a fine waltz into a forced soldiers' march-step inside the dance hall! They are uncouth beasts._

 _I steady myself even now with the fine notion that your victory over them will be swift and complete. How I long for the day this business is through! It is my prayer that a certain general is of a quick mind to recognize what you are offering him, and accepts. Once you have gained the success from this matter, my father will not be able to say no to you about anything, as you know I cannot._

 _Until our next meeting, my dear John._

 _Adieu,_

 _Peggy Shippen (Andre)"_

There were no words for a time after he finished reading. I stared back at my aide-de-camp, barely comprehending exactly what he had just read. I knew I had to say something. I had to reach out to him, had to offer at least a modicum of apology and reassurance for the pain my own orders had inflicted upon him. I could see the tears welling at the edges of his eyes, tears which seemed to mirror those of a broken, loving woman that John and I had comforted in the foyer of my Pennsylvania headquarters. And yet, what exactly could I say? No apology of mine could take away the weeks of heartache and the heavy burden of the guilt which now loomed over my aide's heart.

"I'm sorry, John," I said solemnly, rising to my feet and turning towards the door. "I take my leave. You need time to take all of this in. Don't bother reporting in tomorrow."

Andre nodded. "Thank you, Sir."

 _ **Part IV-Correspondence between Clinton and Andre**_

 _From General Sir Henry Clinton, K.B. to Major John Andre_

 _Dear Sir,_

 _You are hereby requested and required to proceed through the lines to the city of Philadelphia, in disguised habit, to make your way to my former headquarters for the purposes of gathering intelligence on the Continental strength there. You are permitted to remain for three days, and may gather your intelligence within whichever part of the city seems most favourable to your efforts._

 _The reasoning for this order is two-fold: one, to prepare yourself for further actions behind the enemy's lines. As my head of intelligence, it pains me greatly to order you into the field, for the thought of your loss is incomprehensible to me. Nevertheless, I fear that the plan you have concocted in regards to the turning of American officers to the cause of loyalty might very well require you to venture beyond the comforts of my headquarters, and, as a veteran officer of the field, I have come to the conclusion that the best teacher for a soldier in the field is the field itself._

 _Though officially I recommend this posting to you because of your gallant efforts as head of Crown Intelligence, unofficially I must issue a second order, namely, to conclude any unfinished business you might have in the city so that you might be able to once again return your thoughts to the war at present. I have wronged you, Major, and it would be wrong of me to continue to ask you to serve under my command without first offering a chance to rectify that wrong. I cannot undo that which has already been done, nor can I promise you that your stay in enemy territory will be a long one. That is beyond my power. I can, however, promise that as long as I hold your commission, I will make every effort to ensure the hasty retaking of Philadelphia, as well as a hasty conclusion to this war, so that the errand you have been entrusted with tonight might be granted a more fitting, and permanent, conclusion._

 _Good luck and fair fortune be with you. Stay alert, and do not draw attention to yourself. I await most eagerly your hasty, safe return._

 _I have the honor to be, as always,_

 _Yr. most obt. Sr._

 _Gen. Sir Henry Clinton K.B._

 **Part V An Ensign under Andre:**

"Sir, are you sure this is part of the mission?" I asked uneasily as Major Andre and I walked quietly down the streets of Philadelphia, sheltering ourselves under the eaves of the houses to avoid being soaked by the pouring rain. The storm had come suddenly, sweeping over the city as quickly as the Army had taken it, showering the streets with a fusillade of soaken water.

Andre made no direct reply; he merely clasped me tightly by the shoulder. "This part of the assignment is not to be on record, Ensign. This is… an additional objective, shall we say?"

"What do you mean, _additional_ objective, Major? Is there something Sir Henry requested of you here?"

"The answer to your query, Ensign Williams, is strictly confidential. This matter is between Sir Henry, myself, and my contact here in the city. You may retire to your lodgings if you wish, lad. I know the way from here." 

"Begging your pardon, Major," I replied curtly, "But Sir Clinton requested I accompany you during your dealings in the city. _All_ of your dealings in the city, Sir. I'd rather not be tried for dereliction of my duty upon our return."

"Don't worry, Ensign," Andre smiled back. "I'd vouch for you. You have done no more than your best thus far, as you have given me no reason to doubt you. Alas, I fear I am outfoxed! Very well. You may come with me to my destination, but as soon as my contact makes an appearance, I must ask you to retreat else your presence is discovered."

I nodded, snapping a crisp salute at my superior. "I have my orders, Sir." I bit my tongue. Curious it was, indeed, that the Major's 'contact' was addressed as a woman. Perhaps a mere slip of the tongue, I thought to myself, or perhaps there was more to it. Either way, I wasn't exactly willing to correct a superior officer on matters of pronouns. We had more important things to attend to, like avoiding detection. After all, the city was now in Rebel hands, and only the Lord knew how many of the traitorous serpents lingered along back alleys and peered out at us through the windows. True, it was after dark, but even so, one could never be too careful amidst the enemy.

We rounded the corner of the building, praying to God that no rebels patrolled the streets. Andre looked first to the left, then to the right, and, after finally asserting that the coast was clear, led me out into the pouring rain towards the imposing mansion that I recognized from my brother's letters as the former headquarters of His Majesty's Army in Philadelphia. Without a word, the Major motioned for me to follow.

"Is this where we are going, Sir? Sir Henry's old command post?"

Andre said nothing, he only nodded and raced ahead of me, running up the steps of the old headquarters as though he was a courier delivering news from the front-lines to his superior. I remained behind, hands poised upon my firelock. One could never be too careful. True, I knew that one King's man, even a trained officer, would stand little chance against a mob of Rebels. But it was not my life that mattered now. What mattered was Major Andre, gallant, dashing Major Andre, the man I had been requested and required to guard with my own life if necessary.

After some time, Andre motioned for me to cross over to join him, and to sling my musket out of the way. I did so instantly, as I had been trained to do, fighting the urge to worry. Did Andre have a reason for removing me from my post of sentry? Of course, he must have a reason. When would the head of Crown Intelligence in the Colonies _not_ have a plan? With unease panging every muscle in my body, I slung my firelock over my shoulder, mustered what courage I could find, and strode out from the cover of the eaves into the cold, wet night.

I reached him in due time, and the Major stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me. Instinctively, I snapped at once to attention, but Andre merely shook his head. "Stand easy, Ensign," he told me with a smile. "My contact is no general, nor is she a soldier. You need not stand on ceremony for her."

 _Her._ There it was, that word again. Clearly, this was no slip of the tongue. The Major's eloquence was perfect, his inflection containing the same precise, disciplined tone he had used with me during our official business in the city. No, John Andre was indeed seeing a woman, though to what end I could not yet ascertain. I looked up at him quizzically, pondering the possible implications. The major paid me no heed, turning his attention away from me and back towards the cavernous doors of Clinton's former residence. One, two three knocks rang out against the door, then silence. I stood uneasy behind my superior, one hand reaching for my firelock. I would not be caught off guard.

After what felt like an eternity, I heard the sound of footsteps approach the door. Andre motioned for me to join him. I obeyed his order, climbing the steps to stand at the Major's side. The door swung open, and a slender, attractive woman stood before the Major, a look of pure astonishment upon her face, her eyes transfixed upon his.

"Evening ma'am," Andre told her, a wide smile upon his face. "Do you know where I might be able to find a Miss Margaret Shippen of Philadelphia?"

As his 'contact' embraced him tightly, I quietly slung my firelock and began my retreat across the lane in order to stand sentry. The Major would be a while, that much I could infer, but from the delightful chatter echoing from across the way, I figured the wait for him would be well worth it.


End file.
